


The Alternative Hypothesis

by horselizard



Category: British Comedy RPF, Hypothetical (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dress Up, Emotion Play, Humiliation, Loss of Control, M/M, Ownership, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Humiliation, Realisations, Roleplay, Shame, Verbal Humiliation, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard
Summary: Sometimes, a little perspective shift can be enlightening.But when you're James Acaster, there are some things you really don't want to be enlightened on.





	The Alternative Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likecharity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/gifts).



> "He basically plays dress-up and then the panellists get to use him how they want him" - likecharity
> 
> And then I couldn't think about anything else. HIGH FIVE, FRIEND.

"Did you have fun?" James asks Ed over a post-recording pint.

"Yeah, I did," Ed grins. "It's a good format. You and Josh work well together as presenters."

"Oh, thanks," James smiles. "Yeah, I think it's going pretty well. After doing Taskmaster, it's fun being the taskmaster on my own show, y'know?"

Ed looks at James quizzically, and James' ironically self-important grin falters. "Yeah, but… you're not, are you?"

"What d'you mean? I set the parameters of the hypotheticals. I dole out the points." He's said those words so many times over the last week, it's like they're engraved into his brain now. "I'm in charge! I can choose who wins or loses based on my arbitrary whims! It's very Greg."

"Oh," Ed says, and the tone of his voice makes James feel… naive. "Oh. Funny, I was seeing you more as an Alex."

"No," says James, slowly. "No, Josh is Alex, isn't he? It's his format. He's the straight man. He thinks up the hypotheticals, I riff off them. I mean, he's the main presenter, but apart from that..."

"Yeah, sure," Ed replies, "but looked at another way, he dreams up crazy scenarios, asks the contestants to carry them out, and then gives them _you_ to help them with it. And you have to go along with whatever ridiculous solution they've come up with." Ed smirks. "Josh has made you the Alex to his Greg, my friend."

"Actually, the act-out segments were my idea," James says in a small voice. What Ed's saying makes too much sense for comfort.

"Oh, yeah? I didn't think you'd done much improv."

"I haven't," James replies doubtfully.

"And you set the _rules_ for the hypotheticals, but you don't set the _hypotheticals_ , do you? Tell me you didn't come up with an idea where you'd be almost guaranteed to have to attempt a Geordie accent," Ed laughs.

"No," James mutters, blushing.

"So you've put yourself in a position where you have to do something you don't have much practice at, where you have to follow other people's suggestions, and where you have basically no control over the starting premise, except maybe to add complications to it which could hamstring you further?" Ed pushes. "And where you're usually also wearing a ridiculous costume?"

"I hadn't thought of it like that," James admits reluctantly. He really hadn't. And now he has, and he regrets it.

"Sounds like you've made _yourself_ the Alex to Josh's Greg," Ed laughs.

James knows Alex well enough to be very, very worried by that thought.

* * *

It's always the same dream.

They're in a little room, he thinks it's a rehearsal room he'd been in once, him and Josh and enough of their colleagues to make it intimidating. There are a couple of tables, and a box full of the too-many props and costumes they got in for Hypothetical, but mostly the costumes.

Josh sits at one of the tables, and he stands awkwardly in front of it, and the others stand around in an expectant circle. One by one, they go up to Josh, and ask if they can play out a scene with James, and James stands there in silence while Josh considers the request, and then invariably grants it.

They're all competing on the same hypothetical: _You have to humiliate James Acaster until he comes. What do you do?_

Victoria makes him put on a cap and apron, pushes a scrubbing brush into his hand, and tells him, disdainfully, that he's missed a spot. She points to the floor, and he gets on his knees, meekly scrubbing at the space between her boots.

Sara puts him in a puffy pink tutu, and plays the sadistic teacher, commanding him to bend his gangly limbs into awkward, ridiculous positions. And when he loses his balance and stumbles, she shoves him over the table, flips up his tutu, and spanks him.

Tom puts a blindfold on him, and says it's because of how insistent he seemed to be on the idea when they were acting out his date task, and isn't that _curious_. He takes him by the hand and leads him around the room, pretending they're walking through Regent's Park, laying on the charm, and remarking on how very hungry he appears to be for the slightest scrap of positive attention.

Lou gives him a nappy and a rattle and a little frilly bonnet, and sits him down on the table, and stridently declares that it's time for his feed. She pushes her breast towards his mouth and he recoils in flustered horror, and she refuses to stop until he scrunches up his face, starts banging his rattle on the table, and pretends to cry. Of their own accord, his cheeks turn an appropriate shade of red.

It's Ed's turn last. He roots around in the dressing-up box, finds a pair of ear defenders, loops them round James' neck, and gives him a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses to put on.

"What am I being now, then?" he asks, uncertain.

"You're being James Acaster," Ed replies with a smile.

James' self-esteem is already rubbed raw from the scenes he's been forced to play out so far: the embarrassment of trying to act out things that are beyond him, the shame of his obvious discomfort and his consequently stilted performance, and the mortification of discovering what his friends think will turn him on (and the fact that they're mostly right). His gaze, through the sunglasses, is desperately pleading.

"Fair play, fair play," he offers weakly. He's aiming for self-deprecating self-parody, hoping that if he's quick enough to laugh at himself Ed will let him off the hook, but he's too wound up, and it falls flat.

"Oh, dear," Ed shakes his head. "Couldn't even win a James Acaster impression competition. I told you that Berry guy was better at being you than you are. Come on, we're all painfully aware by now that your acting skills aren't what they could be, but I thought you could manage _this_ , at least. Make an effort, will you?"

James' cheeks are flaming. The last person he wants to be right now is himself, because he's feeling all too conscious of exactly what that means.

"Yes, Ed," he mumbles, and Ed smirks.

"That's better," he says. "That sounds a lot more true to life. I hear you say that a lot, don't I? Is that because you like being told what to do?"

"No," he replies, trying to sound petulant, trying to access the brattier edge of his stage persona, but he can't, he's coming apart, hideously self-conscious.

"Oh, James," Ed shakes his head, his voice laced with disappointment. "Now, that's not true, is it? Josh, how am I supposed to take my turn if James won't play his part properly?"

"Yeah, James," Josh chimes in from where he's watching with sly interest, sat back in his chair, arms folded. "Go on, give Ed a fair crack of the whip. Tell the truth."

James shuts his eyes. "I like being told what to do," he says quietly.

"Course you do," Ed grins, patting his shoulder. The touch is too much. "Thank you, James, for giving me a 'fair crack of the whip'. Appropriate phrasing, that, since you've essentially set yourself up as our whipping boy, haven't you?" He laughs, and James cringes. "Would you like to tell us why that is?"

"Because…" he stutters. There are many equally accurate answers to Ed's question, but he knows which one he's looking for. "Because I like being humiliated," he forces out.

"Oh, you really do, don't you?" Ed replies emphatically. "I think we all know that by this point. Go on, tell us how much you like it. Are you hard, James?"

James swallows. "Yes," he whispers, his cheeks burning.

"Thought so," Ed says dismissively. "Strange boy, aren't you? Fun for us, though. Are you hard from all the cruel things we've been doing to you?"

"Yes," James repeats, and he feels himself get harder. His one small comfort in this mortifying situation is that at least he can hide behind the sunglasses, which is why he feels so acutely vulnerable when Ed takes them away.

"Are you hard from being dressed up? Played with? Teased and taunted and spanked?"

"Yes," James whimpers, staring at the floor, feeling everyone else's eyes on him. He's drowning in shame, marinading in it. His heart is beating fast in his chest and his breath is quick and urgent like he's just come up for air, just broken the surface of a body of water, but there's no way out of this, he's hopelessly submerged.

"Are you hard from everyone watching? Everyone laughing? Everyone seeing how pathetic you are?"

"Yes," James groans, and he's so hard now, he's sure everyone can see, he's hard because Ed is _destroying_ him, working his way in to his most painful secrets with surgical precision, and then twisting the knife.

"No-one in this industry," Ed murmurs, leaning in close to James' ear, "is ever going to take you seriously again."

James wants to believe it. It would be such a relief, he thinks, just to _sink_.

"Don't worry, though," Ed smiles, shark-like. "You'll still get plenty of work. Lots of demand for a sad little freak who's desperate to be humiliated. Who'll let people do whatever they want to him. The Amazing Self-Respectless Boy. Everyone'll be queuing up to degrade you." He lifts James' chin, forces him to look at him. "Just like we did tonight."

James shivers, electrified. He wants this. He deserves this. To be nothing but a laughable plaything. To have his dignity ground into the dust, over and over and over again.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ed presses. "Oh, I can tell. Admit it, James. Admit to everyone how much you'd like it."

James screws his eyes shut, tips his head back, his breathing heavy. Every muscle is tense, every nerve is singing. He's always known he's a wreck, on the inside. Ed ruining him like this, so completely, so publicly, is just… bringing him into alignment.

"I'd love it," he croaks, his voice cracking.

When Ed speaks again, James can hear the smile in his voice. "Come for me, James," he orders.

_You have to humiliate James Acaster until he comes. What do you do?_

_Humiliate Alex until he comes. Your time starts now._

James comes, untouched, into his pants, with everyone watching.

* * *

It's always the same dream.

James wakes up sticky.

He wishes Ed had never pointed that out.


End file.
